DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (202 page)

When he finished and called for a final arm-uplifting, all hands reached skyward.

And then the crowd began to whisper once more, and many made as if to wander away.

"You are not dismissed!" De'Unnero cried sharply. Every head turned to the man, and every whisper halted.

"There is another issue for discussion," the Bishop explained, "one not for prayer but for pragmatism. You citizens of Palmaris, perhaps more than any others in Honce-the-Bear, have borne witness to the horrors of the demon dactyl. Is this true?"

A murmur of "Yes, my lord," rumbled through the crowd.

"Is this true?" De'Unnero roared, so suddenly, so frightfully, that Pony jumped.

Now the response was tremendous, an agreement yelled in fear.

"Blame naught but yourselves for the rise of Bestesbulzibar!" De'Unnero screamed at them. "For the blackness in your hearts spawned the demon dactyl; the weakness of your flesh gave flesh to the diabolical creature. You cannot avoid the blame! Not you, nor you, nor you!" he yelled, running across the front of the platform, pointing at various terrified individuals. "How great have been your tithes to the Church? And what tolerance have you shown for pagans? Your docks are littered with the unwashed unbelievers.

"And who has been your leader these past years?" he cried. "Abbot Dobrinion? Hardly, for you, like so many others, have heeded the words of a secular leader."

He calmed and stood still. The whispers began again despite the fear, for he had just spoken ill of Baron Bildeborough, who had been so beloved by the folk of Palmaris.

"Do not misunderstand me," De'Unnero went on. "Your Baron Bildeborough was a fine man, a humble man who did not place himself above God. But now, my friends," he said, raising his fist in the air before him, the muscles on his forearm tightening like iron bands, his face brightening with sheer intensity, "now we have the chance before us to lay Bestesbulzibar and all its evil demon kindred to eternal sleep. Now, because of the wisdom of King Danube, Palmaris shall shine as never before. We are the borderland, the sentries of the kingdom. King Danube knows this, and knows, too, that if Palmaris finds its soul, Bestesbulzibar cannot pass through our gates!"

The flourish as he ended the statement brought a great cheer from the crowd. Not from Pony, though. She looked around at the faces of the common folk, many wet with tears. He was good, she had to admit. This new bishop understood his flock. First he took action against the two classes that the Palmaris commoners were more than willing to consider enemies: the merchants and the foreigners. And now he was calling them to spiritual arms. So many of them had lost loved ones in the fighting —and even before the war, so many of them had faced death daily—that De'Unnero's hint now that they might somehow transcend their meager existence was obviously appealing.

"You must come back to God!" De'Unnero cried. "I will look for every one of you —for you and you and you," he said, again pointing and rushing across the platform. "No longer will the monks of St. Precious minister to a paltry few. No, I say, because God has shown me the truth. And God has spoken to your King, has inspired him to give the city into the care of the Abellican Church. Thus, we will be the guardians of the soul. We will defeat the seeds of Bestesbulzibar. I will show you how."

The cheering grew with each proclamation, and Pony studied those around her, looking carefully for signs that this public accord might not be as deeply rooted as she feared. She did see many people holding their hands out to the Bishop, desperate to believe in something; but she saw many others going along with the cheering simply out of fear of the ever-present monks and soldiers.

It wasn't until De'Unnero finished that Pony looked back at the platform and saw him standing with his arms crossed again. He was an inspiring orator, a man who stirred the soul. But Pony knew the truth and knew that his actions in the name of God were designed, in fact, to serve a mortal being.

But the people didn't know it, she reminded herself, scanning the crowd; and their ignorance could allow De'Unnero to exact a brutal toll on anyone who did not agree with the Church. Still, Pony was convinced that there was skepticism here, waiting to embrace the truth.

Now all she had to do was figure out how to get her message to the common folk.

While presiding over the morning prayers of the younger students, Father Abbot Markwart recognized the tingle of spiritual communication. Someone was trying to contact him using a soul stone, but the telepathic intrusion was so slight that Markwart couldn't recognize the soul.

The Father Abbot abruptly excused himself, turning the duties over to Brother Francis, and hurried back to his private quarters. He started for that most private room of all, but hesitated, remembering that a spirit-walking monk could see his physical surroundings. Even if he went out spiritually to intercept the monk, might the man slip past him and view that room?

Markwart laughed aloud. No, this monk, whoever he might be, was a puny thing, a mere child. Holding the calling spirit at bay, Markwart collected his soul stone and, with hardly a thought, he fell into the smooth grayness of the hematite, his spirit walking free of his body.

He saw that Je'howith had come a-calling, and he saw, too, that the spirit of the other man already showed signs of magical weariness. Markwart's spirit waved the abbot away, making clear that they would communicate in St. Honce and not here. Then he went back into his body, moving into the room with the pentagram, where he felt his power most keenly.

In moments, the specter of the Father Abbot appeared in Je'howith's quarters to face the physical man. It was obvious to Markwart that Je'howith's spiritual excursion to St.-Mere-Abelle had exhausted him. After Markwart calmed Je'howith, the Father Abbot ordered him to speak plainly and quickly.

"The King is not pleased with Bishop De'Unnero's actions in Palmaris," Je'howith explained. "He is taking gemstones from merchants —stones they bought from us. It is incredible that De'Unnero would show such nerve, and so soon after taking—"

"Bishop De'Unnero acts with my blessing," Markwart replied bluntly.

"B-but, Father Abbot," Je'howith stuttered, "we cannot anger the entire merchant class. Surely the King will not allow —"

"This is not a matter for King Danube," Markwart explained. "The gemstones are the gifts of God, and thus, the sole domain of the Abellican Order."

"But you yourself have sold them to merchants and nobles," Je'howith dared to reply. A cold feeling washed over him even as the words left his mouth, bringing a sensation of dread beyond anything he had ever before known.

"Perhaps I was not as wise in my younger days," Markwart replied, seeming calm —and that only unnerved the abbot even more. "Or perhaps I was too bound by tradition."

Je'howith looked at him curiously. Markwart had always prided himself on tradition; in fact, whenever the College of Abbots had objected to his decisions, he had nearly always used past practices as justification.

"You have learned a better way now?" the abbot asked cautiously.

"Witness my growing power with the stones and understand that to be a manifestation of a greater insight to God's desires," Markwart replied. "I have come to see that our selling of the sacred stones was wrong." The Father Abbot paused, for his own words had struck him as curious. After all, had not Avelyn Desbris espoused the very same argument? Was not the abbey's selling many of the stones Avelyn had collected on Pimaninicuit one of the primary causes of his desertion?

Markwart was amused at the irony, for, yes, the actions had indeed been the same, but the reasons were very different.

"Father Abbot?" Je'howith asked curiously after several long moments had slipped past.

"Bishop De'Unnero acts in accordance with my new insights," Markwart stated firmly. "He will continue."

"But he angers the King," Je'howith protested. "And do not doubt that King Danube considers the appointment of bishop a trial only, and will revoke the title and place a baron —and likely one not so favorably inclined toward the Church—to oversee Palmaris."

"King Danube will find it is more difficult to revoke a title than to grant one," Markwart replied.

"Many believe the Church and the state are separate entities."

"And they are fools," said Markwart. "We cannot claim rulership all at once," he explained, "for that would surely incite the frightened rabble to act on King Danube's side. No, our domination will be a step-by-step acquisition of Church control over one city, one region at a time."

Je'howith's eyes widened and he looked away, staring at the corner of his room. He had not heard of this plan before and had no idea that Markwart's ambitions ran so high. Nor was he comfortable with the thought. Abbot Je'howith had a secure and comfortable life in the King's court at Ursal, and he wasn't thrilled with the idea of anything disrupting that luxurious existence. And he could not dismiss the thought that he could even end up on the losing side of a titanic battle.

The abbot looked back at Markwart's spirit and tried hard not to show his fears, for he understood there was hope of a compromise with the Father Abbot on this matter.

"King Danube will understand my view," the Father Abbot assured him.

"And what am I to do?" the dutiful abbot asked.

Markwart chuckled. "You will discover that you have less to do than you believe," he said mysteriously. Then he faded from the room.

A moment later Markwart blinked open his physical eyes. His room was as he had left it; even the candles had not burned down noticeably. But before Markwart could ponder the miracle of this spiritual communication, he had the feeling something was out of place. Slowly he scanned the room. Nothing seemed different, but Markwart sensed something had changed, that someone, perhaps, had entered the room.

Yes, that was it. Someone had entered the room, had witnessed him at his work. Markwart leaped to his feet and rushed into his office.

This room, too, seemed unchanged, but Markwart again sensed that another person had recently been here, as if the intruder had left behind some detectable aura.

Markwart went into his bedroom next, and in the doorway he felt it again. Even more astounding, the Father Abbot realized he could trace the intruder's very steps. The man had come through the office and to the bedroom door but then had turned and gone into the summoning room. It all seemed remarkably clear to him. . . . Perhaps his work with the hematite had allowed him to leave behind enough of his awareness that he could register the events about his corporeal form.

Markwart nodded, thinking he had the puzzle figured out.. . and he also had a fairly good idea of who the intruder was.

Back at the Fellowship Way, Belster remarked to Pony and Dainsey, "He had them on their knees. They're needing something to believe in. Our new Bishop knows that."

"And will try to take advantage of the situation," Pony added.

"Pity the Behrenese then," Dainsey said with a snort. "If the Behrenese are deservin' of any pity!" The woman started to laugh, but she saw that her attempt at humor wasn't appreciated.

"That is exactly the attitude Bishop De'Unnero hopes for," Pony said to Belster, "and the attitude we must fear."

"Few of the Behrenese are well regarded in the city," Belster admitted. "They've got their own ways —strange ways, that make folk uncomfortable."

"Easy targets for a tyrant," Pony reasoned.

"What're ye sayin' then?" Dainsey wanted to know. "Now I've never been fond o' churchmen, especially since they been takin' me in for their questions of late, but the man's the Bishop, put there by the King and the Church."

"Two marks against him," Pony said dryly.

"And what're ye thinkin' ye might do?" Dainsey asked. When Pony looked at Belster, it was obvious to her that he was thinking much the same as Dainsey.

"We have to use De'Unnero's own actions against him," Pony explained, improvising as she went along. Her mind was whirling —she knew she had to take some action against the Bishop, had to try something to stop him from securing his hold over Palmaris. But what? "We have to let the people of Palmaris know, Belster," she decided.

"Know what?" the innkeeper asked skeptically. "The Bishop explained everything he means to do."

"We have to make them know the reasons for these acts," Pony declared. "De'Unnero is not concerned for the people —not in this life or in any that might follow. His goal, the goal of his Church, is power, and nothing more."

"Strong words," Belster replied. "And I am not disagreeing with you."

"You have an extensive web of informants already in place," Pony reasoned. "We can use them to keep people together . . . and keep them informed about the actions of Bishop De'Unnero."

"Are you looking for a fight, then?" Belster asked bluntly. "Do you think that you might create a riot in Palmaris that will sweep away De'Unnero and all the Church —and all the soldiers?"

The question set Pony back. That was exactly the thing she was now fantasizing about, but when it was spoken so openly, she realized just how desperate, even ridiculous, it sounded.

"I've a network, indeed," Belster went on, "for protection —hiding folks who have fallen into trouble—for helping to keep your own identity secret. Not one for fighting a war!"

"Ye'll not do that," Dainsey added. "Oh, I've wanted to kick them damned monks all the way across the Masur Delaval, but if ye raise an army o' peasants, ye'll soon enough have an army o' dead peasants."

Belster put his hand on Dainsey's shoulder and nodded grimly. "A tall order, going against St. Precious and Chasewind Manor," he said.

"Not taller than the odds we faced in Caer Tinella," Pony replied, and a grin spread over Belster's face.

"We can at least act as a voice for the common folk," Pony went on. "We can whisper the truth, and if they hear it often enough, and measure our words against De'Unnero's actions, perhaps they will come to understand."